


The Miracle of Kurt

by GingerItt



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:44:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerItt/pseuds/GingerItt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine and his uncle journey to a new land to spread the word of God.  The last thing Blaine expected was to fall in love.  (This ends happily, I swear!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Miracle of Kurt

**Author's Note:**

> There actually was a St. Blane that lived in 6th century Scotland. Google it. One of his miracles was restoring a dead boy to life.
> 
> Also, this a probably a bit blasphemous. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Their coming to Eire had been Cathan's idea. Blaine had no say in the matter and did as he had been told, packing his few meager possessions in the pack he always carried with him.

His mother's pin with the smooth blue stone given to her when she wed.  

His father's fine dagger he wore at his hip despite his uncle's silent protests.  "We are monks, not marauders, Blaine!" he had chided him when he began to wear it. It only took one attack from bandits to quiet him on that. 

An extra tunic and pair of leggings he'd traded a weeks worth of bread and ale for.

Wrapped up in the tunic were his books.  The first was a poorly bound series of blank pages that he practiced his writing in when he had a spare moment to himself.  He could add to it when needed but the material was expensive so Blaine used every bit of it. The second was small, written in minuscule script, but on fine parchment.   He'd procured it during their travels to Rome and had kept it hidden from his uncle ever since. He knew how to read and write, his father had made sure of it, but his uncle believed that the word of God could only be heard, not read. 

He had been content to stay at the monastery in Scotland for the summer but Cathan insisted they go, claiming God was calling them westward. Leaving now meant they would be there for the winter months and would not return for a whole year.

The journey to Eire was arduous, crossing the sea, going from village to village, begging for scraps of food.  Why they had come here, Blaine did not know. Cathan was insistent on not stopping for more than a day or two until they reached the other side of Eire, where the ocean began.  Blaine should have appreciated it more, this was, of course, where Cathan and his own mother were from. But he simply couldn’t.

After weeks of walking Blaine's patience was beginning to wear thin. He was tired, dirty, and hungry. He wanted nothing more than to satisfy those urges but he kept his thoughts to himself.  Monks were supposed to be beyond such simple pleasures but Blaine was not a monk by choice. 

He had been eight, the baby of his family, when the raiders came, killing his father and brothers as if they were pigs for the slaughter, raping his mother and sisters before finally killing them as well. He had hidden in the dugout room below the hearth where they kept food for the winter months. Some of their finer possessions, his mother's pin, his father's dagger, his eldest brother’s bow he’d spent weeks crafting, some trinkets his mother had saved for his sisters when it was time for them to marry, were hidden there as well. The raiders stayed on for a while, eating all the food they could find above, stealing their livestock, torturing his sisters and mother as they pleased. He remained silent, hidden beneath the house, hearing the muffled screams and pleas for it all to end.  They left suddenly, in the dead of night, slitting the throat of his last sister without a care.

He didn't know how long he was down there but eventually his mother's brother Cathan came. He vaguely remembered that Cathan visited every spring. He shook in fear when the stone covering his hiding place was pried away, terrified that the raiders had returned.  Cathan's bright blue eyes and gentle hands coaxed him out and wiped away his tears.

He'd traveled with him ever since.  A monk by default. 

Most other men of Blaine's age were married and had families of their own. A place to call home. While he had no desire for a wife, he did long for a home. 

It was in Rome when Blaine realized what he was.  He passed brothels that catered to men with his tastes and wanted so desperately to go inside. Not to partake. He had already made his vows and he was not prepared to break them. But to watch. To see. To learn. 

Because Blaine felt for men the way he should have felt for women. 

Cathan knew. There was no way he did not know but it was never spoken of between them.  Blaine was a reluctant monk and celibate but he took his vows seriously and he had no intention of turning from them.  He had been spared and he was still in His debt. 

Surviving the raiders had been a miracle. His mother had sent him to the cellar to retrieve roots they had stored down there when they came. Someone, his mother, one of his sisters, shoved the stone covering in place just in time with a hiss to keep quiet.  He had prayed in that dark earthen room for his family, whom he loved so dearly, to survive this. His prayers had been for nought. They were all gone but for him and Cathan. 

When they finally reached the ocean, they walked along the sand until they found a small village and began looking for shelter for the night. They came to home after home until they finally came to a forge almost outside the village, carefully made from stone and earth. A man older than Cathan took one look at them before showing them inside and feeding them a stew of mashed turnips and lamb. 

"I am Burt," the man said as he gave them each a generous serving. Blaine sat heavily on the wooden bench and breathed in the aroma of the cooked meat.  As a child, he had meat regularly. His father and brothers raised sheep and cattle and one of his sisters kept chickens.  Since he began traveling with Cathan, who preferred to not eat meat, he had it rarely. And those who took them in weren't going to waste the little meat they had on two monks.  Blaine quickly said his prayers of thanks, licked his lips and picked up the pieces of cutlery Burt had laid down in front of him. He ate in silence, savoring the thick broth. 

"I am Cathan," his uncle replied from beside him.  "And this is my nephew, Blaine.  And we thank you for your hospitality."

"It's nothing," Burt shrugged. "You both look tired and hungry and we have plenty."

"We?" Cathan asked, glancing around the room for a fourth person. Blaine had finished the lamb and was scooping up the turnips from the broth. 

"My son, Kurt. He finished some repair work earlier and went to deliver it," Burt explained.  "He hates having finished things cluttering up the place even if it is just over night."

Cathan chuckled, dipping a crust of bread in his stew.  "This one is the opposite," he says, gesturing to Blaine.  "Always wanting to keep little trinkets and things from our travels."

Blaine opened his mouth to argue but as he did a man entered the forge.  He was young, maybe his own age but tall and slim.  Blaine was reminded of the horses he saw leading the chariots of officials in Rome: lithe, elegant creatures, so unlike the ones his father had had for farming. His skin was pale, much like that of many people of Eire and of Blaine’s home, but he reminded him of the marble statues he’d seen. Piercing blue eyes cut through the darkness and made Blaine gasp. They were the same blue as the stone in his mother’s pin. Deep chestnut hair that glimmered in the fire light stood atop his head, falling in a soft curl over his forehead. He was beautiful.

\---------

In the morning, Cathan told Blaine that this was where they would remain for some time. 

“God wants us here,” he said simply as Blaine splashed water on his face. Blaine was too tired from their travels to argue. 

Years ago, Burt had built a small hut on a piece of land he had rented out to his wife’s brother. He had lived there for a while but after a few years, he abandoned the land and ran off with the daughter of a tradesman.

“If you make use of the land, I’d be happy to let you stay there,” Burt offered over breakfast after Cathan told him of their plans as his son dished out bowls of porridge for each of them. 

Cathan was unsure. “I do not know much of farming. We might not--”

“I can do it,” Blaine interjected. Burt’s son sat across from him, his impossible eyes boring into him. His name was Kurt and it was very clear that he was not happy that about their visitors. He had yet to speak a word to either of them. “I can do it. I helped Father with planting and the harvests. I still remember what to do.”

“Blaine, it’s been nearly ten years since--”

“I can do it. And I want to. I’ve missed it.” He had loved working alongside his father and siblings in their fields. He had been responsible for several rows of beans and root vegetables in his youth. He still remembered the pride on his father’s face when he grew his bean stalks so tall he’d had to wind them around sticks to support the weight. 

“It’s settled then,” Burt said between mouthfuls. “We will go look at the house and see--”

“Father, close your mouth, please!” his son scolded. Blaine swallowed nervously. His voice was light and airy, so different from his father’s but commanding all the same.

Burt chuckled at him. “Come on. I need you to check the roof for me. I’m not about to climb up there.”

Kurt sighed but nodded as he ate his breakfast. Blaine had the feeling that this was a big part of their relationship and it made him smile. Kurt stood to collect their bowls but Blaine stopped him.

“I insist,” he said, taking the bowls from him and moving to the basin. “It’s the least I can do.” Kurt snorted at him.

The hut stood within sight of Burt’s forge. Built into a slight hill, it’s front wall was rough stone and the roof was thatched with earth and hay. Blaine looked around; it was a decently sized room, with a small hearth and enough room for two sleeping mats. The dirt floor had bits of grass sprouting up from years of disuse. It was livable and Blaine and Cathan had slept in worse.

He went out to inspect the plot of land. The hut was on the far edge of it and it stretched toward the forge. Burt hadn’t been lying, it was small. Maybe ten, fifteen paces square with a low, wide stone ledge around all four sides.

“Why the fence?” Blaine asked Burt as he climbed over it. He dug his fingers into the hardened soil and smiled when he saw the rich brown color. In spite of being so close to the sea, the soil was good and Blaine know he could make things grow in it.

Burt huffed as did Kurt. “The man who owns the land next to ours keeps cattle and let them into our crops when the land was still being farmed.”

Blaine look towards where Burt was pointing and saw dozens of animals laying in the shade of a large tree. He could see no one watching them or working nearby.

“Nothing else could be done?” he asked.

“It was either build the wall or--” Kurt started but Burt silenced him with a wave of his hand. He looked sheepish. “It was just easier to build the wall.” He had a feeling that there was more to it than they were letting on but it wasn’t his place to pry. Burt was being generous beyond all belief and he wasn’t about to ruin the arrangement. They returned to the forge to collect their packs while Kurt climbed atop the roof and checked the thatching. They had kept the roof in good condition by checking it regularly and only a few patches needed replacement.

That night, Blaine laid awake on his mat as his uncle slept. His mind would not quiet, no matter what he did. Every part of him was covered in dirt and he was incredibly uncomfortable in his dirty clothing. Finally, he retrieved his clean tunic and leggings from his pack and slipped out of the hut, making his way down to the beach.

Blaine stood on the sand and sighed happily. Up on the hill was the village and Burt’s forge, and his new home for the time being. The idea of a home, an actual place that was his and Cathan’s thrilled him to no end. Their room at the monastery was warm and well kept but it wasn’t truly theirs.

The bright moonlight shone down on him as he stripped off his tunic and leggings before making his way into the water. It was cold but exhilarating, the water rushing around him, making him clean for the first time in months. He would come back in the day, when the water was warmer, but tonight he was content to dive into the darkness and float on his back.

He dunked himself, scrapping his fingers through his curls, working the knots and tangles loose from the dirt and grime. His mother had curls, too. Long, black ringlets that she kept braided down her back. A few of his brothers and sisters had them as well but none he remembered as vividly as his mother’s. Memories of sitting in her lap as she did her sewing by the fire and twisting a loose strand around his finger. Her soft smile as she chided him but kissed his fingers all the same. One of his sisters combing it for her and another weaving it into plaits. His father petting over it when it hung loose.

He rose to the surface, shaking the salt water from his hair. He scratched at his beard. Normally, he preferred to not have a beard but his dagger was in desperate need of sharpening. Perhaps Burt would sharpen it for him tomorrow.

The sand stuck to his feet as he walked back to the village and his hut, pulling on the clean pair of leggings as he felt his skin dry in the warm air. He passed the forge, humming to himself before going into the hut and collapsing on his mat and falling asleep.

He didn’t notice a pair of blue eyes watching him.

\--------

He and Cathan fell into an easy routine. Cathan would go into the village and tend to the sick, offering his prayers to those that needed them, and told stories to whatever children he could find. Blaine would go into the field with the tools Burt still had and tend to the soil. It was hard work, getting it ready for planting, but Blaine enjoyed it. He didn’t mind getting dirty when the ocean was right there and he could clean himself at the end of the day. He didn’t mind the heat or the sun or how much he sweated. Blaine was finally doing something he enjoyed. 

They had been there for a few weeks when Kurt came to him in the afternoon with ale. He had kept his distance from them, only seeking him or Cathan out for mealtimes. 

“When do you plant?” he asked, sitting cross-legged on the ledge.

“In a few days, I think. Cathan has been trading his services for seeds and your father had some that may still grow.”

They sat in silence, the wind whipping around them. The air here smelled of salt and Blaine loved it.

“Your skin isn’t red.”

Blaine looked at him, confused. “I’m sorry?”

Kurt’s face turned pink and he looked away hurriedly. It was then that Blaine remembered that his tunic was folded neatly near the hut. 

“Your--uh--your skin isn’t red from the sun. Mine always turns red and hurts. Yours is like... honey.” 

“Oh. Um... Mine does turn red but it takes a long time. My father had skin like mine but my mother was like you. So--”

“White?” Kurt cut in with a throaty chuckle, his blush ebbing.

“Beautifully pale.” 

\-------

Blaine was in love. There was no way around it. He was in love and no matter what he told himself, it wouldn’t stop. He tried not thinking about it, about him, but he was unavoidable.

Kurt.

Kurt who had revealed himself to be funny and kind. Who could fix anything in his father’s forge but preferred to make delicate pieces when he had the time.

In the months he and Cathan had spent with Kurt and his father, Blaine fell slowly in love with the other young man. They began taking their midday meal together during the summer months. Kurt would trot outside with bread, cheese and cups of ale for them to share and they would sit on the ledge and talk.

Blaine told him of his family, describing each of his siblings and his parents as best he could. Kurt told him of his mother, who was lost during the birth of a child, who was lost as well. Blaine would sometimes bring out his books and show them to Kurt, teaching him the letters and their sounds. Kurt, in turn, taught Blaine how to work in the forge, starting him with simple things like nails and pegs and how to repair his own tools. Their evenings were spent telling each other stories. Blaine told him of Rome and of Scotland. Kurt told him of growing up beside the ocean, collecting shells and fishing with his uncle.

But more than anything, they just enjoyed being together. Cathan and Burt watched them for a distance, but neither intruded. It was obvious that much like Cathan knew about Blaine, Burt knew about Kurt. Cathan trusted Blaine to remember his vows.

One night while Cathan and Burt were out, Blaine grew tired of his beard and brought his dagger in for Kurt to sharpen. As Kurt worked, Blaine sat with hot cloth over the lower part of his face to soften the hair. Kurt neared him with the blade and Blaine reached out for it but Kurt shook his head.

“Let me. I shave myself and my father.”

“I can do it, Kurt,” he argued from his seat on the bench. He moved to stand, but Kurt pressed a hand to his chest. He blinked up at him nervously.

“Calm down,” he said and came closer, drawing the cloth from Blaine’s face. “If I cut you, I’ll work in the field with you tomorrow.”

Blaine smirked at him, leaning back against the table. “Sure you will.” 

“I will!” Kurt cried, his fingers on Blaine’s chin. He tilted his face up and brought the blade to just below Blaine’s cheekbone, where his beard began. Blaine gulped, looking up at Kurt who was close. So incredibly close he could touch him wherever he wanted. He did his best not to move as the dagger moved across this skin. After each pass, Kurt wiped it clean with a small piece of cloth. He tilted Blaine’s head back even further and reach forward with the dagger to continue but he paused.

“What’s wrong?” Blaine asked.

“I can’t get to it all this way,” he explained. “If I could...” Slowly, he came even closer and straddled Blaine’s legs, settling in his lap. Blaine’s breath hitched at the feel of Kurt above him, his long legs curled against his. The fire light flicked across his face, making Kurt’s eyes shine. For his own part, Kurt gulped and set the knife down on the table. This brought their faces close and Blaine almost feel the heat from his skin. 

“Kurt,” he sighed, his hands falling to the other man’s thighs. Kurt leaned in closer and pressed his lips to Blaine’s.

\-------

“You’re going to freeze to death!” Kurt hissed as Blaine stripped off this clothing and made his way to the ocean. 

“It’s already spring, Kurt!” he hissed back, his best to hide his shudder as his feet met the chilled water. “Come on, it’s fun!”

Kurt grumbled as Blaine dived underwater. He sputtered as he broke through the surface, pushing his hair back. He smiled in the darkness, watching the silhouette of Kurt removing his shoes, tunic, and leggings. 

“This better be worth it,” Kurt said with a wince as he made his way toward Blaine. 

Blaine’s smile turned into a grin as he wrapped his arms around Kurt’s bare waist and pulled him into a kiss. Waves crashed around them, knocking them down and they stood up, laughing before swimming back to one another.

Neither of them noticed a pair of dark eyes watching them.

\--------

As Blaine and Cathan neared a year in their time spent with Kurt and his father, Burt had to travel to a village half a day’s journey away. A gang of bandits had destroyed the forge of the smith, who was an acquaintance of Burt’s and he was unable to manage the repairs himself. Initially, Burt was going to go with Kurt but as they were preparing to leave, a man from the village came in with his shield and sword which were both in desperate need of repairs. Normally, Burt would have told him to come back when they had returned, but he offered them enough gold that there was no choice. Kurt would stay behind and Blaine and Cathan would go to make up for his absence. 

Their visit to the neighboring village lasted nearly a week and had been successful. Burt had been able to reconstruct his friend’s hearth and tools as best he could, Cathan found a group of people that welcomed him and his stories, and Blaine procured some new seeds for the autumn crops. The journey back was easy between the three and Blaine secretly made plans to sneak out with Kurt during the night.

“Burt!” The tall man who lived with his mother in the village came barreling towards them as they reached it’s edge. He looked like he had been beaten but he didn’t let it slow him down. “You have to come now!”

“What’s going on, Finn?” Burt asked but they followed him anyway. Blaine had seen him around frequently as Burt was friendly with Finn’s mother. She made medicines for the villagers and often treated their injuries.

“It’s Kurt. He-- just come. Mother is tending to him.” Finn led the way to his home. “I came by the forge to see if Mother’s pot was finished and I walked in on him.”

“Kurt?” Blaine asked in a soft voice.

Finn shook his head. “No. David.”

Burt froze, fear obvious on his face. “David?”

Finn nodded sadly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner. I--I got him off Kurt and brought him here. Mother tried to save him, Burt, she did but David--”

Inside Finn’s house was a sick room, where his mother tended to those in need. Burt made his way in and falling to Kurt’s side, sobs wracking through his body. He was unrecognizable. Bandaged and bruised all over, his arms and legs in splints, it was obvious even to Blaine that Kurt was gone from this world.

David had done this. David, their neighbor who had let his cattle destroy the crops, prompting them to build the ledge. Kurt had confessed to Blaine what had happened between them and David. Kurt had still been very young at the time but David, who had a wife and children, looked at him in a way that made him uncomfortable. When his cattle began to eat their crops, Burt and his uncle went to him and tried to be friendly about it but David said that was only one thing that would make him control his animals.

He wanted Kurt for his own.

Burt refused, of course, and the ledge was built. He and Kurt had regarded David with cold deference ever since. 

“Where is he?” Burt growled, coming to his feet. “I’ll kill him myself for this--”

“Burt, calm down--” Carole, Finn’s mother begged. Finn and Cathan blocked the door, keeping Burt in the room.

“I will not calm down, my son is--is--” he cried, collapsing against Carole. She held him tightly, her own eyes wet with tears. 

Blaine knelt at Kurt’s feet and bowed his head in prayer. He didn’t know what else to do.

\---------

He wanted to go after the thug that did this and kill him just like Burt had wanted to do. Finn and Carole had forced a sleeping tea down Burt’s throat and Cathan went to the forge to clean up the destruction with Finn. Carole let Blaine have his privacy, she knew they had become close. Perhaps she knew more than she let on, Blaine wasn’t sure.

When Blaine prayed, it was out of habit more than anything else. Cathan led him through his morning and afternoon prayers, leaving him on his own for his prayers of thanks at mealtimes and before bed. Tonight, for the first time since he had holed himself in the dugout under the hearth of his family’s home, he prayed in earnest. Every prayer he knew. The ones he made up over the years when the words he was taught and read did not convey what he wanted to say.

He prayed for Kurt to not be dead.

He prayed for Kurt to love him back.

He prayed for Kurt to heal.

He prayed for Kurt to laugh again because his laugh was beautiful.

Blaine wondered if God could hear him or cared. He’d broken his vows time and again with Kurt. He’d sinned. He’d fallen in love when he had promised not to do so. Words fell from his lips without realizing what he was saying. He confessed not only his sins to God but his feelings to Kurt. He loved him. Even in death, he loved him and knowing that he would never be able to say those words to Kurt or hear them back made him ache with pain.

As the sun rose, Blaine lifted his head and looked at Kurt’s broken, lifeless body. He was leaving today, with or without Cathan. He wasn’t going to go back to Scotland but he didn’t know where to go. Maybe he’d journey into Gaul or return to Rome. Maybe he’d walk into the ocean and not turn back. A world without Kurt in it was not a world he wanted to live in.

Carefully he sat on the edge of the cot and leaned over, whispering, “Goodbye, my love. I will meet with you soon,” as he pressed a gentle kiss to his battered lips.

Beneath him, Kurt sucked in a sharp breath, sputtering and coughing as his impossibly blue eyes opened. Blaine fell backward in shock, crashing into a stool, and called for Carole. She stumbled in, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she entered the room. The sight of Kurt, gasping and trembling made her fall to her knees.

\---------

Cathan intended for their stay in Eire to only last a year. In actuality, they stayed seven before finally returning to Scotland. And when they did, they had four other people in tow. Kurt, Burt, Carole (whom Burt had wed soon after Kurt’s attack), and Finn. They came to the island of Bute, which Cathan told Blaine was his childhood home, and set to work building their church. Burt and Kurt built a new forge, making the necessary tools for the town that was growing around the construction. 

Blaine and Kurt made no secret of their relationship. Some might have turned their noses up at them, but truly, they didn’t care. Blaine had lost Kurt once for only a few hours and he was not going to lose him again.

One morning, in their little stone house by the forge, Blaine laid beside Kurt, running his fingertip along the scars of his chest. He was still beautiful, he always would be, but David’s actions left their permanent mark on Kurt’s body. At first, Kurt had been embarrassed by the shiny pink skin but Blaine loved him all the more. 

“We should get up,” Kurt purred, curling against Blaine’s smooth chest.

“We should,” Blaine agreed, kissing his forehead.

“Your uncle probably needs you for morning service.”

“And your father and brother will need your help.”

Neither of them moved.

Kurt kissed his chin and smiled. “Or we could lay here.”

“We could,” Blaine said with a grin, skimming his hands down the length of Kurt’s back. “But we should dress. I have a gift for you.”

“Blaine...”

He laughed as he pulled away from Kurt and tugged on his leggings. “I’ve had it for years. I’ve just been waiting for the right moment to give it to you.”

They had a small chest against the wall where they stored their belongings. Extra articles of clothing for the colder months, Blaine’s books (he now had four instead of two), Kurt’s finer pieces he had made before coming to Bute. In the bottom of the chest, wrapped in a piece of soft linen was what Blaine was looking for. He unfolded the fabric and turned to Kurt, who was dressing. He held out the item in his hand to the other man.

Blaine picked up the pin and pierced the fabric of Kurt’s tunic with it. He’d been right. The stone did match his eyes. Kurt’s eyes shone brightly in the morning light as he looked down at Blaine’s mother’s pin. He’d only shown it to him once before but it was clear that Kurt remembered it and knew how treasured it was.

“I love you,” Kurt said simply, like a promise. Like a prayer.

“I love you, too,” Blaine replied, drawing him in closer for a kiss.


End file.
